


because i know no other way than this

by GloriaVictoria



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Ghost Drifting, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15825954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaVictoria/pseuds/GloriaVictoria
Summary: Hermann and Newt had known distance, once.A ghost drifting fic based on Pablo Neruda's "Sonnet XVII".





	because i know no other way than this

_So close, that your hand on my chest is my hand_

_So close that when you close your eyes, I fall asleep_

* * *

 

Hermann and Newton had known distance, once.

As children, they certainly understood it. Hermann, ostracized for his ungainly appearance and bookish attitude, had never enjoyed popularity, and Newton's bombastic personality and style stepped on too many toes. As they grew, this never really changed. Hermann still lived in his books, buried by ambition, and Newt still lived in his head, bringing to life the lofty fantasy of stardom that he aspired to. They had felt the gaping, aching maw of loneliness stretching out between them, though they'd never mentioned it in their letters or emails. When they'd finally met in person, they never spoke of those times; after their disastrous first meeting, they may as well have never happened. They could not admit to each other then that as they had poured out their souls to one another, their hopes and dreams, they'd danced around the only words that mattered: “Come find me.”

The Pan-Pacific Defense Corps did not know the meaning of distance. The Shatterdomes varied in shape and appearance, but whoever had designed them must have certainly looked to sardine cans for inspiration. Shared showers, tiny living spaces, and a laboratory barely half the size that Newton and Hermann’s research required all led to a ten-year stretch of painful proximity. They both craved space, just like everyone else crammed into these glorified tin cans. Every moment they spent together burnt like a lit fuse, slowly creeping toward an explosion that sent the room shaking. The rest of the 'Dome dwellers knew to steer clear when Geiszler and Gottlieb had sunk their claws into each other.

Nobody knew about the time before, and frankly they liked it that way. In the grand scheme of things, none of it mattered. After all, death lurked around every corner and the apocalypse hung over them like the Sword of Damocles, a pendulum ever-tilted toward annihilation. Nothing mattered but this: the salvation of mankind. Hermann and Newt almost forgot that they'd known each other before this: like yellowed letters in old shoeboxes, the memory of their correspondence -- and the longing for real connection -- faded.

Then, the Drift changed everything.

For a long time, Newt isn't sure how to describe it. Having just drifted with an alien hivemind with a genocidal bent, he wouldn't have described himself as “stable” or “reasonable” when Hermann offered to help him with the second time. In fact, when he later tried to recall that night, he could only gather bits and pieces, his memory shattered by trauma and anxiety, the breakneck speed of it all. He can't remember the wet heat of Otachi’s tongue reaching for him, what streets he stumbled through to escape, or nearly anything he'd said to Hannibal Chau.

These things fall through the filter of his mind, discarded. Yet he remembers Drifting with Hermann Gottlieb as if someone had painted a mural onto the inside of his skull. Hermann's life unfurls itself before him, a swirl of German chocolate and bruises, the pain of a broken femur, the smell of his mother's hair and the sting of tears. Newt knows Hermann must have seen his own life in the same maddening technicolor, knows that when they next see each other, they will see each other as if stripped bare to the bone, to the very molecules of their being.

It finally happens, three days after the Pitfall, after three days of cold sweats, three nights of fitful sleep and terrors clawing at him from the deep.

“Yes. I saw them too.” Hermann says before Newt can even speak. They sit before each other in a Hong Kong cafe, Hermann drinking tea with a dash of cinnamon and honey. Newt knows this because he's ordered it before -- that's what it feels like. He can feel the the wording of his order forming in his mouth, hear the clink of money as Hermann passes it across the bar once, twice, a hundred times.

“Haha, wow, dude. Took the words right out of my mouth.” He swallows; his throat feels painfully dry.

“You should go order something.” Hermann suggests, and he's probably right, but for the life of him Newt cannot stop looking at Hermann. He sees his face so clearly now; each line etched across Hermann's face leads Newt like a well-drawn map across this man, who he's known for years and yet never truly understood.

“Right, right…” Newt tears his eyes away at last and looks out the window at the hustle and bustle of the street. He thinks of running, disappearing into the crowd. He feels Hermann's eyes on him, probing. He knows that Hermann sees him with as sharp a lens as his own, and the thought scares him. He never wanted Hermann to trawl through the sludge of his past. “We should… talk.”

“Isn't that what we're doing?”

Newt snorts and takes his glasses off, pretending to clean them on his shirt. “Doesn't look like it to me, dude.” He hears Hermann take a quiet sip and feels the tea run down his throat. It's sweet -- too sweet for Newt's tastes -- and the cinnamon burns his nostrils. He can hear the cup shake as Hermann sets it back on its saucer.

“...Can you feel it too, Newton?” Hermann asks, his voice quavering.

“Yeah.”

“I remember reading about the effects of ghost drift in my father's notes, before I joined the Academy.” Hermann paused, and when Newt looked back he had tears in his eyes -- he flinched as it rolled down his cheek and onto the back of Hermann's hand.

“Why are you crying?” Newt asked.

“Because I'm _terrified_ , Newton.” Hermann replied, his voice soft but full of steel. He knew how much this costed Hermann, how deeply this vulnerability cut him. He knew now that he hadn't cried for nearly a decade, not until now. Newt reached out, almost instinctively, and took Hermann's hand. He almost expected Hermann to jerk it away, but he didn't. In fact, he held it tight, grasping it just as he'd done the night they'd Drifted. Hermann's fingers felt just as cold as they had then, and Newt shivered as if he could still feel the harsh wind and the frigid air in his lungs.

“Yeah. Me too.” Another long stretch of silence. Neither man moves their hand away; in fact, they sit as still as statues, studying each other as if searching for the path forward in the eyes, the twitch of a smile, the curl of hair falling across a forehead.

“Newton, eventually it will pass. We shall simply have to bear it out.” _What if I don't want it to pass?_ Newt hears his mind flail. _What if I want you here forever?_

“Heh, well that's a relief, isn't it? Newt runs his free hand through his hair, forcing himself to laugh. His stomach churns, and he senses a powerful headache building behind his eyes,

“Yes.” Hermann's voice cracks around the word like an egg on the edge of a frying pan, and his hand finally slides away from Newton's, coming to rest on his teacup. Newt clenches his fist, as if trying to hold on to its presence, the feeling of it. “Of course.”

“Any plans for once the Shatterdome closes down?” Newt changes the subject quickly, and he feels Hermann's heart rate spike. The sudden change makes Newt's vision swim.

“I've been offered several faculty positions in both Germany and America. I've also been asked to head up a new branch of Astrophysics at…” Hermann stops talking abruptly, reaches down into his bag and pulls out a tiny bottle of aspirin. “For your headache.” Newt takes it and pours two pills into his hand, pops them into his mouth and swallows them down dry. “Stop it, you'll hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, and?” Newt looked away, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “You really gotta stop doing that, man. You're just aggravating it.” Newt expected Hermann to bite back at that little jab. He _wanted_ him to. Maybe if they could get back to screaming at each other, things would feel normal again. Maybe then he could forget to about what he'd seen deep inside of Hermann and himself, the feeling coiling like a vine rooted in the pit of their chests, threatening to burst out and choke them both.

“You still haven't ordered.”

“You still haven't said what you came here to say.” Newt shoots back in a voice he regrets as soon as it leaves his lips.

“Well, I -- I see there's not much point.” Hermann's mouth draws a sharp line across his face, and he rises from his chair with the gravity of an ancient king. “Forgive me, Newton. It appears even the Drift can make mistakes.” With that, Hermann returned his cup and walked away, leaving Newt alone at the table, rubbing his thigh with the quaver of Hermann's voice still humming in his throat.

* * *

 

_Hermann stands on a broad river stone, wet and covered in moss. He's five years old, dressed in his school uniform of cream and navy blue. His socks have fallen down to his ankles, heavy and drenched with mud. Newt watches Hermann hop from one rock to the next, knowing eventually he will fall. When he does, he scrapes his knee and cries. He hears his elder brother call his name, run to his side, pull him sopping wet into his arms. “Watch your step, little frog!”_

_Hermann is twenty-four now. It won't be another year until he meets Newton face-to-face. He stands on a platform, fifteen feet above the ground, typing away on a computer terminal hooked into a Jaeger by thick wires draped over the railing. He's done this a hundred times since joining the Academy. Newt knows that Hermann’s foot will catch on the Jaeger's enormous circuitry, lurking underfoot like a massive snake. He knows Hermann will fall and break his leg, fracture a lumbar vertebra, and dislocate his hip. Newt knows his dream dies here, on a concrete floor._

_It's a week past, and Hermann unhooks him from his makeshift Pons, pulling him from the depths of the ocean. He cradles Newt in his arms, begging him to wake up. Newt had not known how far Hermann had fallen, fallen for years, and in this moment he cannot tell, not with his mind electrified._

Newt bolts up in his bed, clothes stuck to his body in a cold sweat. He fumbles with his glasses as he runs out the door and down the hall, desperately hoping he's not too late to catch him.

* * *

 

Newt throws Hermann's door open and finds him sitting next to his open suitcase on his bed, his eyes red and swollen, face drawn and pale. He has his dresser drawers pulled out haphazardly, half-empty. He hasn't gotten far in his packing, and Newt realizes that he's started this on an impulse: he has no boxes for his books and other belongings, and only a single suitcase for all of his clothes. He's done this out of desperation, out of a need to piece together his sense of control. Newt knows this without the Drift, but the whisper of pain in his thoughts confirms it.

“Newton, what -- what are you doing here?” Hermann pulls himself up as tall as he can, leaning minimally on his cane. Newt feels his hip and thigh twinge with pain as he approaches.

“Hermann, stop, just -- just _stop_ that, for fuck's sake...” Newt pushes Hermann back down onto the bed, wrapping his hand around Hermann's where it grips the head of his cane. When Hermann grabs his wrist in protest, and the contact of skin on skin sends a bolt of electricity through him. Hermann feels it too; he sees him shiver, closing his eyes and taking a breath to gather himself. Hermann's fingers are Newt's own, his wrist belongs to Hermann. He can see himself in the glazed reflection of Hermann's warm brown eyes.

“We should--”

“Talk? I tried that this morning, Newton. You see where that led us.” Hermann's breath tickles Newt's neck as he speaks. Their lips nearly touch. They're too close, far too close, but neither one of them deigns to pull away. This proximity feels more natural to Newt than breathing, like a fish returning to its lake from a fisherman's hook -- ripped away from what kept him alive, but safe now, finally safe.

“Yeah, that's…” Newt's hands move unbidden through Hermann's hair. It's soft and fine, laying in messy waves atop his head. His other hand cupped his face, stroked his flushed cheek. Funny; he'd always thought Hermann so coarse.

Newt can't tell who moves first, but by that time it doesn't matter. When Hermann pulls Newt by the shirt toward him, he's already got his hand behind his neck, fingers gently grazing the short hair above the nape. Hermann trails his hand down the line of Newt's back, and he shivers, arches to get closer. That single command, like a drumbeat inside his body, pushes him forth and takes control: _closer, closer, closer._

“There's nothing to say.” Hermann whispers, and Newt nods, bringing their lips together at last. The contact carves into Newt's skin like wildfire, burning away what few shreds of reservation remained in his mind -- as if they could ever turn back now.

Hermann moans into his mouth and kisses back, pulling Newt into a crushing embrace that he returns. Somewhere along the line, he crawls into Hermann's lap and their bodies fit together like a glove, Newt's legs slotted around Hermann's slight hips, chests pressed so close he can feel Hermann's heartbeat against his own. Again the threads of self loosen, feeling and form meld together, and for a moment he can hear the flicker of a thought--

_I love you._

“H-hermann…” Newt looks into Hermann’s and almost flinches, the truth in them too bright and glaring.

“Yes.” He answers.

“Fuck…” Newt whispers, trying to swallow the hard lump rising to his throat.

“I tried to tell you when we met this morning, in the cafe. I knew if I didn't, I'd ...” _I couldn't leave without you._

“But why? You fuckin’...ahh--” Hermann's fingers inch under Newt's shirttail, climbing up the column of his spine. _You hate me. You've hated me since we met._

“No, no…” Hermann shakes his head. “I'm just a fool.” _I'm afraid._

_Me too._

_Don't leave, Hermann._

“I won't.” Hermann takes Newt’s face in his hands and kisses him again, and he topples over, pulling Hermann with him onto the bed.They spend what feels like hours there, staring at each other, memorizing their forms with fingers and mouths and eyes, never daring to move away lest the spell cast over them break and leave them adrift forever.

“What are we gonna do?” Newt finally whispers, his voice full of fear and need and hope. Some part of him still believes Hermann might yet push him away.

“I… don't know. I haven't decided where I'm to go when all this ends. Nowhere seems right without you.” Hermann replied. His lashes bat against Newt's cheek, and Newt leans over to press a kiss to his temple. He knows now it's only one of a thousand he's given in Hermann's dreams, and he wades in this comfortable thought as he answers.

“I have no goddamn idea what I'm gonna do, but it's gonna be with you. I don't care where we go, I just can’t go it alone. Not anymore.” As Newt speaks, Hermann presses their foreheads together. Already the connection has begun to flicker, the ghost drift reaching the end of its life, but Newt still feels as if Hermann lives inside him, as if he's always dwelled there.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” Hermann murmurs with a playful smile, pushing Newt’s legs apart. Newt can feel his satisfaction as he elicits a long, low moan from him.

“Fuck, Hermann…”

“I know, _liebeling_.” His voice shakes as he quickly unzips his trousers and pulls Newt from his sweatpants. Neither lasts long as Hermann strokes them together, and as their bodies quiver with the aftershock, they fall asleep, their nightmares chased away by bliss.

When morning comes, Newt wakes to Hermann's hand on his waist and his head against his shoulder, just as he'd been the night before. The Drift has faded completely away, and he can tell where his body begins and Hermann's ends -- but he doesn't grieve for its passing.

Hermann and Newt had known distance, once, but they would never know it again.

  



End file.
